Little Weapon
by Lady Stockton
Summary: Fuhrer Bradley wants to test Ed's ability as a soldier. Parental!Roy. Rated T for adult themes, non-yaoi, no spoilers.
1. The Colonel

_A/N: Don't own FMA. Don't own "Little Weapon" by Lupe Fiasco. Don't own anything really._

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><p><strong>Little Weapon.<strong>

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><p><em>Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon<em>

_We're calling you, there's a war,_

_If the guns are just too tall for you, _

_we'll find you something small to use._

_Little weapon, little weapon, little weapon_

_I need you now_

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><p>When Edward Elric passed the State Alchemist Exam, Mustang promised himself that he would do everything in his power to protect the little boy as much as possible from the darker side of the military. But it seemed as if Bradley had other things in mind. After all, the Fullmetal Alchemist needed to know what being a soldier was really all about, twelve years old or not.<p>

The problem with Edward Elric was that he was too smart to believe the propaganda. He knew exactly what he was marching into. Mustang remembered with excruciating clarity the day of his deployment. He was all youthful cockiness, but the colonel could see the pallor underneath his tan, the way his stubbornly-set jaw trembled, and the fear that flickered in his eyes when Al wasn't looking.

The colonel had been stationed elsewhere, but that didn't stop him from hearing the news about the little blonde boy. A whole platoon had been crushed under an avalanche of rock and snow. He was famous. The other soldiers were inventive in their adoration of the boy:

The Blonde Bombshell.

The Fullmetal Demon.

The Bone Crusher.

The Golden Guillotine.

And Mustang's personal favorite, the Devil's Child.

It was a "sweet little war", ending as soon as it began. Three months is really no time at all and the casualty rate was a record low. So why was it when Ed stood in front of his desk the colonel only wanted to despair?

Al hulked at his big brother's side, subdued by the hardness in those golden eyes. The anger in the older Elric's voice had a razor's edge now, even if the words hadn't changed. Mustang was still Colonel Bastard, but the moniker was anything but childish spite. It lacerated him with a fury and resignation that belonged to multi-tour veterans.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Roy had heard that somewhere and on the surface everything was the same, but the truth was that everything had changed: the anguish and hate that radiated off that small body wasn't for his commanding officer, the army, or the Fuhrer, it was for himself.

So Mustang sent him after every possible lead on the stone and blessed the scotch that curtained his own self-hatred at the feelings of relief when Ed was away. The colonel wished he could comfort him in some manner, but he knew that was more for his own conscience than for Ed.

He had to take the Fuhrer out. The colonel promised himself there would be no more Edward Elrics.

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><p><em>AN: Thought about this while listening to the aforementioned song (points up at first A/N), which is about child soldiers. If you are interested in the subject "The Lost Boys of Sudan" is good documentary._

_**Please review!**_


	2. The Weapon

_A/N: Don't own FMA._

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><p><strong>Little Weapon<strong>

He didn't want this. No, not this, not ever.

But that didn't stop him.

Ed took his gloved hands off the side of the mountain as the snow and dust settled. They were gone. No more shooting, yelling, shrieking, booming.

Just silence.

And red. It was seeping, spreading everywhere, turning the pristine white into a macabre ice cone. Ed believed he could hear the distinct sound of a bone snapping under a settling boulder. The boy wished he could cry, feel anger or fear. But there was nothing, just numbness.

His commander, another colonel, he didn't bother to learn his name, came up and clapped him on the back.

"Good work, _soldier_." The sneer was plain as day, but whatever smug expression was on his face when Ed looked at him with his wide golden eyes, slipped away. The man cleared his throat and mumbled something about regrouping the troops before beating as hasty a retreat as a dignified colonel could muster.

The other soldiers avoided him. He heard the pet names they made for him, but he didn't care. They were gone, gone, gone, gone. Gone. He didn't believe in God, but maybe he was the Devil's Child.

…

It was freezing and dark and howls echoed in the distance, but Ed didn't care. They had believed in God, he had heard them pray and found the rosaries on their necks. Dragging another fallen soldier into the marked grave, he laid the photo of him and his family on top of the man's chest. The last one. His soft clap was swallowed by the wind as he buried the father and husband beneath cold, uncaring earth.

Not that such a simple act could ever wipe away the blood that threatened to drown him. How many people would die because their son, husband, brother, father could no longer send them money?

The scent of ozone filled the air as Ed looked at his handiwork. Dozens of graves sat mutely in the wintry night. Some had names and some didn't.

Again, Ed wished he could cry.

…

It wasn't long after that Drachma decided to retreat and Ed was standing in a place that used to be so familiar, almost safe.

But those black eyes, they incriminated him with all of their understanding and compassion. All the numbness fled before them and he was left with the guilt and the self-hatred and the anger, but he was strong as a monster and his journey wasn't over yet. He couldn't give up his watch and crawl into that man's arms like a child and beg for forgiveness. Not from the Colonel Bastard, who wasn't really a bastard at all.

Ed was thankful to be sent away, far away from those eyes. Because who could forgive a demon covered in blood?

No one, not now, not ever.

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><p><em>AN: I tried to change up the writing style a little bit between the two chapters to reflect their respective characters more, I hope you liked it._

_There may be an epilogue to this, but that may be it. If I do add more than just an epilogue, it'll be something I do in my spare time, so not very regularly. Thanks for reading!_

_**Please review!**_


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